Chapter 45
The Last Dream of the Old OakIN the forest, high up on the steep shore, and not far
from the open seacoast, stood a very old oak-tree. It was just
three hundred and sixty-five years old, but that long time was to
the tree as the same number of days might be to us; we wake by day
and sleep by night, and then we have our dreams. It is different
with the tree; it is obliged to keep awake through three seasons of
the year, and does not get any sleep till winter comes. Winter is
its time for rest; its night after the long day of spring, summer,
and autumn. On many a warm summer, the Ephemera, the flies that
exist for only a day, had fluttered about the old oak, enjoyed life
and felt happy and if, for a moment, one of the tiny creatures
rested on one of his large fresh lea
